


I wish I had a steadier hand (or the words to bring you back again)

by imperfectandchaotic



Category: Little Voice (TV 2020)
Genre: F/M, i wrote this so long ago, references to canon alcoholism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:02:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28457991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imperfectandchaotic/pseuds/imperfectandchaotic
Summary: “Bess.” His voice is distant, distorted, like she’s underwater. “Bess.”She starts. Samuel’s tugged her down to sit on his bed. The soft thread of his blanket tickles her bare legs but that too, somehow, is removed—as though Bess is outside of herself, watching the way Samuel ducks his head to catch her eye.“What do you need?”(a coda to the end of 1.07 because I was truly wrecked)
Relationships: Bess King/Samuel
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	I wish I had a steadier hand (or the words to bring you back again)

**Author's Note:**

> a mirror to 'the devil's in the details' because I cannot believe a show actually gave me what I wanted. 
> 
> originally written in august during the show's initial appletv+ run on my tumblr (marlahey) which I promptly forgot to crosspost. honestly this summer feels like a lifetime ago.

  
They arrive at Samuel’s apartment. Bess has no idea how they got here. She doesn’t know a lot, right now. The weight of his arm around her back’s been so constant (for the last...hour? How long did it take them to walk back?) that when the door closes behind them and Samuel finally releases her, Bess feels like she might float away. 

  
“Bess.” His voice is distant, distorted, like she’s underwater. “ _Bess.”_  
  
She starts. Samuel’s tugged her down to sit on his bed. The soft thread of his blanket tickles her bare legs but that too, somehow, is removed—as though Bess is outside of herself, watching the way Samuel ducks his head to catch her eye.   
  
“What do you need?”  
  
The full glass windows throw amber streetlight across the apartment, cutting sharp shadows over his face. At least he’s not asking if she’s okay. Bess opens her mouth to reply but nothing comes out. The memory of her father screaming at her in the street crests up, a tidal wave. 

Samuel draws her in, absorbing the sound of her choked sob. He cradles her head as she falls into the curve of his neck and Bess has never felt quite so fractured, before.  
  
Can she shatter and sink at the same time?  
  
His voice pulls her back to the surface, low and urgent just above her ear. 

“We don’t have to talk about it. If you want me to, I’ll take this to my grave and we don’t ever have to speak of it again. If you want to go home, I’ll take you.” 

Panic seizes inside her chest, that urge to flee. Bess shakes her head, trying to stand, but Samuel won’t have it. He cages her in with his body, unyielding, the refusal absolute.   
  
“Hey, hey. C’mon Bess. Just talk to me, okay? Do you want to look for him?” He pulls back, his grip still firm around the soft bends of her elbows. The light reflects oddly in Samuel’s eyes; they bore into her. “If you wanna go back out there right now, I’ll help you search all night until we find him.”  
  
(She believes him. She can feel the truth of his words in her bones.)  
  
Bess hiccups. It feels like she’s gasping for breath. He brushes her tears away, pushing back her hair. Beneath the worry there’s something so tender in his expression that it stuns her into stillness.  
  
“Tell me what you need. Just...” Samuel’s voice wavers, just for a second. “Bess, _please_ just let me help you.”  
  
She doesn’t know what she needs. Bess just knows she doesn’t want to feel _this,_ like she’s drowning. But Samuel’s there, with his steady gaze and uneven smiles and guitar calloused fingers on her skin. His eyes rove over her face like he’s searching for something.  
  
She wonders if he can see her panic before Bess surges forward, catching his very faint breath of surprise with her mouth.   
  
Samuel freezes.   
  
(She wishes she had the excuse of being drunk.  
Bess banishes the thought as quickly as it comes.)   
  
A beat of perfect silence rings through the apartment.   
  
Samuel’s hand slides up to her neck, over her thrumming heart, in a touch so light it’s almost _reverent—_ fresh heat burns in Bess’ eyes. He kisses her just once, like he could break her if he’s not careful, which—maybe he can.   
  
Or maybe she’s already broken.  
  
Then it’s over, before Bess can even take another breath.  
  
Samuel pulls away very gently. She’s slow to open her eyes, more reluctant to face him than she could ever admit aloud. The only word Bess can really land on to describe his face is _pained._  
  
Guilt rears up in her chest.  
  
He thumbs at more tears that she hadn’t even realized had fallen. Bess barely recognizes her own voice. “I’m so—”  
  
Samuel silences her with a shake of his head. “Don’t be. It’s okay. You’re okay, right? With—” He falters. She feels unsteady.“With that?”   
  
Bess thinks of what he’d said to her tonight, before everything fell apart. _You make the bad days okay._ She just nods.   
  
One corner of his mouth lifts in that way it does when Samuel wants to reassure her. Bess lets it work.   
  
“Want me to take you home?” he asks gently.   
  
Bess shakes her head, almost surprised at herself. She can’t remember the last time she didn’t want to be alone, so fiercely it could have choked her. Samuel nods towards the head of the bed.   
  
“Sleep?”   
  
Bess stares at his pillows like they’re alien. Words stick in her throat, raw as they finally come out. “I don’t know if I can.”  
  
His understanding is more than she can bear. Samuel reaches for the sleeves of Bess’ jacket. When it slides away and he gets up to leave it on his chair, a question leaps from her mouth. “What about you?”  
  
His smile tilts higher on one side as he shrugs out of his button down. “Got a foam mattress in the closet.”  
  
“You don’t—” Bess can’t articulate it, suddenly. Their fight comes rushing back. _You’re too messed up to let anyone care about you._ “Can you...”  
  
She doesn’t trust herself to speak anymore so Bess just reaches for his hand. The air feels loaded with something unspoken, but Samuel just follows as Bess leans back onto the bed, curling into herself; he folds around her, tucking himself so tightly into all her spaces that her shoulder blade leaves the mattress to lean on his chest instead. The apartment narrows (she loves his space so much but it’s too big now, like she could lose herself in the emptiness) into the strength of his body, the weight of his arm over hers.   
  
Samuel’s breath is warm on her neck. He doesn’t move to take his hand back.  
  
“Okay?” he murmurs. Not, _are you okay,_ but _is this okay?_ She nods into the pillow. Bess can make out the familiar shapes of Samuel’s production set up; the memory of Electric Lady stings. The ceiling offers no comfort.   
  
“He,” she starts, and finds a lump in her throat. _I haven’t seen him since we recorded._  
  
“You don’t have to explain, Bess.” Samuel tightens his grip. “You don’t have to say anything.”   
  
Yet more tears slide past her nose—will she ever stop _crying—_ and Bess is grateful he can’t see her. Though that may just be his grace, pretending he doesn’t know. The ever restless city sounds just far enough away through the open windows.  
  
She exhales shakily. Samuel doesn’t say anything else. He hooks his chin over her shoulder. Exhaustion seeps in her bones but Bess’ mind won’t let her _rest_ , even when his breath goes deep and even. She tries to close her eyes but her father’s face: listless, livid, practically unrecognizable— is seared in her mind.   
  
She lays awake for a long time. It doesn’t feel real—tonight, this moment, _herself—_ and then Samuel’s lips press into the only bare skin he can reach.  
  
(The dark behind her eyes is safe, now. Just for a second.)  
  
Bess can feel his gaze on her face but she has no idea what to say, or do. He shifts against her like an instinct. She’s struck with the sudden, overwhelming fear that Samuel’s about to pull away, to _leave_ , and her free hand is already reaching back for his arm—a plea Bess can’t voice, something in her that’s too fragile to bring into the light.  
  
He presses, almost impossibly, closer.   
  
Bess can close her eyes, finally. She doesn’t sleep more than she passes in and out of almost-dreams (the apartment women, Louie dressed as Hamilton, Ethan’s grandfather); she returns to herself once to Samuel’s fingers trailing gently up her arm, from her wrist to her elbow and back. The steady rhythm of it is like a blanket wrapping around her.  
  
Pale dawn is creeping in the next time she opens her eyes. Bess’ head feels foggy from lack of real rest. She rolled all the way onto her side at some point and Samuel had followed.  
  
“Want anything?” His voice is soft, a little hoarse. “Water? Food?”  
  
Bess shakes her head.   
  
“Did you sleep at all?”  
  
She shakes her head again.  
  
Samuel leaves a featherlight kiss at the very top of her spine, a wordless empathy. She couldn’t stop the shiver if she tried. Bess almost wishes that they’ll never have to look at each other again, if only so she doesn’t have to face however things may have changed—if only she could just be _safe,_ for once.  
  
Are things different? Or is Bess the one that’s changed, now?  
  
She rolls over to face him before she can decide. Samuel’s eyes are very soft. He reaches out and brushes some fallen hair back away from Bess’ face. His callouses graze her cheek.   
  
Bess knows she should say something. Anything, really. But she has no idea where to begin or how this is supposed to end and Samuel must see the fear on her face, because one corner of his mouth lifts.  
  
“It’s okay, Bess.”  
  
She feels _small_ , somehow. “Is it?”  
  
His expression is careful, guarded even. “It doesn’t have to mean anything, if you don’t want it to.”  
  
_Do **you** want it to?_  
  
She doesn’t have enough courage for the question. Not now, anyway. Maybe not ever (or maybe Bess is just a coward and he’s been telling her something all this time that she’s too afraid to hear).  
  
“I don’t—” she starts, then stops. She tries again. “Should it?”  
  
_I don’t know what I want._ _I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t know what to do._  
  
Samuel smiles. He looks almost _sad._ “I don’t think you want me.”  
  
He says it with such certainty _,_ like he’s already resigned himself to the truth. A dull, familiar frustration rises in the pit of her stomach, like smoke from an ember. It’s a feeling only Samuel can ignite. 

  
“How do you know that?”   
  
His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “Because if you wanted me, you could’ve had me the second you walked up on that stage at Saint C’s alone.”

  
Something in Bess comes undone.  
  
But Samuel doesn’t let her reel back. He holds her face so she has to look at him when he says again, “It’s okay, Bess. It doesn’t change anything.”  
  
“How can it not _change_ anything?” she demands, horrified to hear her own voice break. Samuel leans a little closer, his face serious.  
  
“Because I care about you more than I care about my—” Bess sees a flicker of the boy who’d awkwardly asked, _are_ _we good?_ only a few hours ago— “About us being anything more than together in the music. You’re so good, Bess— _Yes_ ,” he insists when she shakes her head, rejection after rejection echoing. “You are. I’ll believe it for you if you can’t, but you are.”   
  
She refuses to cry anymore. Bess blinks until she can see Samuel clearly again. He strokes her cheek a little like he’s unaware he’s doing it, like he’d never stop unless she asked him to.  
  
“I know you have a lot of shit in your life, okay? I know it’s hard and I know you think you have to do it all on your own.”   
  
Her breath hitches. _Damn it._ Bess wraps her hand around Samuel’s wrist as though it could just anchor her enough. He ducks his chin, looking at her through his pale eyelashes. “I just wanna be here for you, if you’ll let me.”  
  
She nods, maybe a little desperately, and that’s apparently all Samuel needs. He pulls her towards him with both arms now and presses his mouth to her forehead. Bess lets him. She lets him trace the edge of her spine, over and over like he could wear a line far enough down to sink beneath her skin. She lets him tuck her into him and curl his hand along the back of her neck, where she’ll never stop feeling at her most vulnerable for a reason Bess still doesn’t understand.  
  
But finally, _finally...  
  
_She falls asleep.  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I have one more fic to post, and one more I started after the finale and never finished because that's just typical. hopefully I can muster that spark in the new year!


End file.
